by Giles Milton
The natives were horrified when they saw what was happening and none more so than Dom Joao. 'The Portugals had never offered such indignitie,' he stormed. De Weert's apologies did little to dampen the fury over the 'sacriligious murther of beefs', nor did his offer of payment for the butchered cows. 'From that time on,' wrote Dutchman Jacob Rycx,'we were on a bad footing with the king and his subjects.'
The incident was temporarily forgotten when the military campaign against the Portuguese was resumed, but resentment towards the Dutch continued to simmer and when Dom Joao learned that his son had been allowed to fall into enemy hands he decided that it was time to act. With an outward show of friendship he invited de Weert and his staff to a fabulous banquet and there had his bloody revenge: While the Vice-Admiral and the King discussed various matters, there was quite a bit of drinking. Suddenly the King berated the Vice-Admiral for having allowed the Portuguese to escape. By then De Weert was pretty drunk. He denied the accusation heatedly and insisted that the King and his retinue pay him a courtesy visit on his ship, adding: 'The Dutch are not accustomed to bend their knee without receiving some respect in return.' This added fuel to the fire and the King apparently convinced himself that the Dutch were not to be trusted, and that the invitation was for the sole purpose of taking him prisoner. At a signal the King's followers drew their swords, slaughtering the Vice-Admiral and all those who were with him. There were three hundred Singalese hidden in the woods near the beach, and when they learned what was happening in the palace they attacked those of us who were ashore. In all we lost forty-seven men and six wounded ... And so it was all enmity and we knowing what had caused this because we thought we were all friends.
Dom Joao soon tried to mend fences with the Dutch but there was an understandable lack of goodwill on the part of the survivors. 'We are sailing for other lands where we shall be treated less treacherously,' they informed the maharajah.
Long before news of the massacre reached Holland, yet more ships had been despatched eastwards under the command of Steven van der Hagan. These headed straight to the Banda Islands where the commander intended to build a fortified factory. He had expected to be greeted by the party of Dutch traders left behind by Heemskerck but as he stepped ashore and knocked on the factory gates he was most surprised to find himself answered by a cheery English voice. It was Christopher Colthurst, captain of the Ascension, who extended a gleeful welcome to van der Hagen. The Dutchman quizzed Colthurst about the fate of the Dutch settlers, only to learn that they had all been murdered by the natives after a fiery argument. The cause of their quarrel 'was a strangenesse', according to the records.Two of the Dutchmen were said to have renounced Christianity shortly after arriving in the Banda Islands and had adopted the Islamic beliefs of the natives. 'They were slaine by three Hollanders which, in revenge, were slaine by the natives.' This led to a blood feud which ended only when all the Dutchmen were dead. Van der Hagen was outraged by what he heard and made veiled threats to the Bandanese. 'Stormie weather followed,' writes Samuel Purchas in his colourful account of the event,'... wherein all the beasts of the forrest crept forth, the young lions roared after their prey; the ghastly ghosts walked abroad in the darke, and the rulers of the darknesse ... domineered at pleasure.' Gathering the island's headmen together, the Dutch commander duped them into signing a document that granted him a total and permanent monopoly over their supply of nutmeg. To the native chieftains, such a document was scarcely worth the paper it was written on, but the Dutch treated it as a legally binding agreement and would later use it as the justification for their annexation of the Banda Islands.
By the time van der Hagen set sail for Holland the Dutch could boast three forts in the Spice Islands which gave them a virtual monopoly on the world's production of cloves — and had secured a written agreement with the Banda Islands, theoretically capturing the priceless nutmeg supply as well. But van der Hagen's mistake was to leave behind insufficient forces to guarantee this treaty he had concluded. Scarcely had he left the Banda Islands than a fleet equipped by the English East India Company sailed into port and experienced few difficulties in buying nutmeg from the local islanders.
News of Holland's success was a cause of grave concern to the directors of the English East India Company. Less than four years after launching themselves into the spice race they found that most of the 'spiceries' were already lost to the Dutch. This caused panic among the Company directors who resolved to challenge the Dutch authority by building factories on the clove-producing islands of Tidore and Ternate as well as on the nutmeg-producing Bandas. They reasoned that having 'factors' or merchants permanently living on these islands was an essential requisite to trade in the Spice Islands; not only could these factors stockpile spices at the time of harvesting when prices were low, they would also be able to keep an eye on the movements of the Dutch and appraise newly arrived fleets of the current situation.
In 1607 they despatched their third expedition to the East, supplying it with £17,600 of gold bullion (but just £7,000 of home-produced merchandise). The captains were urged to stay one step ahead of the Dutch. 'Take your speedy course along the coast of Malabar,' read their orders, 'that you may come [to Bantam] before the Hollanders ... for they will do what they can to anticipate you at the Molluccas.' The directors also took the opportunity to remind all crew members that gambling and swearing was strictly prohibited, and this time an extra clause was added. With the thought, perhaps, that cleanliness is next to godliness, men were asked 'that there be a diligent care to keep the lowest decks and other places of the ships clean and sweet, which is a notable preservation of health'. This sudden concern for on-board hygiene owed less to a concern for the crew's health than to the fact that the Company had learned that 'the Dutchmen do far exceed us in cleanliness, to their great commendation, and to the great disgrace of our people.' The directors had one other request — a trifling matter, really, but one they felt obliged to fulfil. 'Remember to do your best to bring for the Lord of Salisbury some parrots, monkeys, marmasetts, or other strange beasts and fowls that you esteeme rare and delightful.' The Lord of Salisbury was the celebrated Robert Cecil, Secretary of State, who had been pestering the Company for months for exotic animals to add to his collection. The leaders of the third expedition surpassed themselves when it came to meeting this request, for when the Hector at last docked at the Thames-side wharves onlookers were amazed to discover a 'blacke savage' gazing wistfully across the London landscape. His name was Coree, a native of Table Bay, who had made the mistake of clambering on board ship as she revictualled in southern Africa. Realising what a stir he would cause in London, the acting captain Gabriel Towerson took Coree captive and carried him back to England. He proved tiresome company, for 'the poore wretch' moaned throughout the long voyage, not through lack of creature comforts but — according to the ship's journal - 'merely out of extreme sullenness, for he was very well used'.
Sir Thomas Smythe strode down to the Thames to extend a personal welcome to Coree and to assure him that the East India Company would do everything in its power to make his stay as enjoyable and comfortable as possible. Despite these promises, the homesick Coree caused the London merchants much disquiet for he singularly failed to offer them any word of thanks.'He had good diet, good cloaths, good lodging and all other fitting accommodations,' they said, 'yet all this contented him not.' Indeed the longer he stayed in London, the less he appeared to like the city and 'would daily lie upon the ground and cry very often thus in broken English, "Coree go home, Saldania go, home go." 'It was a surprise present of a suit of chain mail, including a brass helmet and breastplate, that gave Coree a change of heart. He was overjoyed with his gift and would don his 'beloved metal' every morning and clatter through the capital's markets proudly displaying his armour to astonished passers-by. When he was at last shipped back to southern Africa having escaped an undignified end as a stuffed accompaniment to Lord Salisbury's collection of hunting trophies, Coree was still wearing his s
uit of chain mail. However, the novelty of the armour soon wore off, 'for he had no sooner sett foot on his own shore but did presently throw away his cloaths, his linen and other covering and got his sheepskin upon his back and guts aboute his necke'.
It had long been intended that the Company's third expedition should consist of three ships under the overall command of William Keeling, but the irrepressibly energetic David Middleton, captain of the diminutive Consent, tired of the slow progress of the Red Dragon and Hector and decided to press on without them. It was a wise decision for by the time Captain Keeling reached the Spice Islands, Middleton had already returned to England and was planning his next expedition to the East Indies.
David Middleton was the youngest of the intrepid Middleton trio and the most impatient and businesslike of them all. Never one to dawdle in foreign ports, his overriding concern was to conduct his business in as short a time as possible. Travelling at breakneck pace across the Atlantic he arrived at Table. Bay with the loss of just one man, 'Peter Lambert [who] fell off the top-most head, whereof he died.' He paused briefly to stock up on fresh food and was soon under way again, this time heading towards Madagascar. Here Middleton stopped to inspect the island but, after a cursory glance, decided 'there was nothing on it' and continued with his voyage, arriving in Bantam less than eight months after leaving Tilbury. Almost every expedition that made it to Bantam did so in poor shape. Men on board would be sick and dying while the factors living in the town were generally found to be in an advanced state of degeneracy. Not so on this occasion. The ever-efficient David Middleton headed straight ashore for a meeting with Gabriel Towerson, the factor left behind by his brother Henry in 1604, and 'found the merchants in very good health and all things in good order'. Towerson expressed concern that the youngest Middleton lacked in experience what he made up for in enthusiasm and warned him that any dealings with the Spanish or Portuguese would be viewed with hostility by the Dutch. But Middleton needed no lectures on how to conduct business: although sailing in a tiny vessel and without an accompanying fleet he was full of bravado and informed Towerson that he 'cared little for their threats and brags'. Towerson recorded all this in a lengthy letter to his superiors in London and although scrupulously impartial when writing about this youngest Middleton, his verbatim report of Middleton's behaviour does the captain few favours. Towerson clearly felt that Middleton's headstrong nature betrayed his youth. But Middleton was no fool and played a clever game of cat and mouse when he reached the spice-rich Moluccas. Having dashed across the Indian Ocean to get here, he now spent more than two months wining and dining the Spanish and Portuguese, apologising for not participating in sorties against the Dutch but explaining that it would run contrary to his orders. He cared little that the Spanish steadfastly refused to sell him spices for, in the words of Samuel Purchas, his men 'had privy trade with the people by night, and were joviall and frolicke by day with the Spaniards'. Setting sail from Tidore, his next port of call was the island of Celebes where he found himself royally entertained by the King of Butung or, as the jovial crew nicknamed him, the King of Button.This island was almost unknown to the English but Middleton enjoyed his stay here and found the King a curious fellow who was only too keen to entertain his guests with banquets and sweetmeats. Some meals were novel affairs; the ship's purser found himself eating in a room whose interior decor consisted entirely of rotting human heads dangling from the ceiling.
Scarcely had the English made their final farewells to the King of Button than they had a stroke of good fortune. The captain of a passing junk sent a message to Middleton that he was laden with cloves which were for sale. Middleton jumped at this piece of news. He bought the lot and, not bothering to sail to the Banda Islands to buy nutmeg, immediately returned to England. One mishap marred their leaving: 'Our captain had bought some slaves from the king,' records the ship's journal, 'and as we were busy this night, one of them stole out of our captain s cabbin door and leaped into the sea, and swum ashore, and was never heard of.' The few captains who later followed Middleton's lead and bought slaves all met with similar problems. They either escaped when the ships reached port or died en route. Slaves apart, the Consent had a trouble-free return to England. Middleton had spent just £3,000 on cloves but when they were sold on the London market they reaped more than £36,000.The rest of the fleet was making painfully slow progress towards the East Indies. Setting sail from England on April Fools' Day, 1607, it was beset by troubles from the very beginning. So numerous were the 'divers disasters', in fact, that its commander, William Keeling, tired of describing them and contented himself with a list: 'Gusts, calms, rains, sickness, and other marine inconveniences.' Keeling was the antithesis of the businesslike David Middleton. In the journal of his voyage he cuts a flamboyant figure whose erratic behaviour was to cause many problems for the Company directors. On a later trip he smuggled his beloved wife on board ship, contrary to Company rules, and kept her hidden in his cabin. She was discovered soon after the ship left England and a rowing boat was sent to bring her back to land, though not before Keeling had written dozens of letters to the exasperated directors in London informing them that he loved his wife dearly and thought their actions to be mean-spirited.
Keeling's other great passion was the plays of William Shakespeare and, as his ship drifted listlessly in the mid- Atlantic, he spent his leisure time planning a magnificent performance of one of the bard's plays. While the men on the Hector were busy mending ropes and caulking the decks, the crew of Keeling's vessel were learning speeches, sewing costumes and performing dress rehearsals. Finally, the big day arrived. Dropping anchor off the coast of Sierra Leone the dilettantish Keeling watched a final rehearsal and decided that his men were as good as they would ever be. A select audience was invited from the Hector and the play performed under the star-studded African sky. 'We gave,' wrote the proud captain, 'the tragedie of Hamlett.' If this is correct it must have been one of the earliest amateur performances of the play, staged not in the Globe Theatre but on the mangrove-tangled shores of equatorial Africa. What Keeling's crew thought of these dramatics has passed unrecorded. More certain is that the spills and adventures of English mariners provided Shakespeare with an endless supply of material for his plays, and it was surely one of the East India Company's sailors, mimicking the strictures of his superiors, who put the words into the mouth of Shakespeare's Clown in Twelfth Night: 'I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything and their intent everywhere; for that's it that always make a good voyage of nothing.' Other plays echo the risks that investors took when they ploughed money into the spice trade and many merchants must, like Antonio's friend in The Merchant of Venice, have spent their waking hours thinking,
of shallows and of flats;
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
And see the holy edifice of stone,
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side
Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks;
And, in a word, but even now worth this,
And now worth nothing?
Drama was not the only diversion provided by Keeling. Realising the importance of keeping his men busy he organised a fishing expedition for his crew who, spurred on by his enthusiasm, managed to catch six thousand fish in a single hour. Never one for half measures, he then rowed ashore for a shopping trip and returned with three thousand lemons. He also carted back a massive elephant tusk as a wall-hanging for his cabin. It cost him eight pounds of iron and a couple of yards of cloth. This last purchase set him thinking: if the natives could slaughter an elephant with their primitive spears, then he would certainly be able to kill one with his musket. And so, 'on the seventh of September in the afternoon, we went all together ashore to see if
we could shoot an elephant.' Trekking through the African bush they spied an enormous bull elephant and Keeling and his men immediately opened fire with their muskets: 'We shot seven or eight bullets into him, and made him bleed exceedingly as appeared by his track, but being near night we were constrained aboard without effecting our purposes on him.'